


What happens on Contraxia

by Lasertits



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: A mislaid Brothel, Bad Fashion Choices, Casual Murder, Dom/sub, Drunkenness, M/M, Mostly alcohol and swearing tbh, Other, Sudden Feels, Terrible food, robot prostitutes, strip clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasertits/pseuds/Lasertits
Summary: Contraxia by night is a full-frontal, kaleidoscopic assault on the senses.Music of every culture and frequency known to Andromeda pumps from the doorways. The air smells like perfume, sundry organic waste products, street food and popular smokeable drugs.The neon lights drip and slide onto the street like colourful snakes. Or maybe that's just whatever the hell it was Kraglin drank last.





	1. Chapter 1

This fic was written the way you might organize a cat race: You identify a goal. You set the course. You line up your cats and blow the whistle. 

And then they ignore you and do what they want. 

I take no responsibility for any of this. Especially not for the drunk-midwestern-transcribed-by-a-scandinavian accents. Porn will be in the second chapter. 

 

\-------------------

 

_What happens on Contraxia, doesn't stay on Contraxia. It starts there and then it keeps going, perpetuum mobile style, until the motherfucking stars wink out._

__

_But that's sappy._

__

__

 

\---

Contraxia by night is a full-frontal, kaleidoscopic assault on the senses. Music of every culture and frequency known to Andromeda pumps from the doorways. The air smells like perfume, sundry organic waste products, street food and popular smokeable drugs. The neon lights drip and slide onto the street like colourful snakes. Or maybe that's just whatever the hell it was Kraglin drank last. 

Yondu, the complete ass, is hollering something unintelligble at passersby. They have to walk around a huge passed out drunk/dead body, just lying there in the snow right smack in the middle of the road. 

He's wearing a fur coat he got from an old lady. It's too small to button across the chest, but he seems oblivious to the cold and the ooglers. Kraglin hopes he left his Ravager coat on ship, that he didn't trade -that- for the shaggy monstrosity, because else they'll all have hell come morning. And Kraglin can guess who'll be combing the planet for snappily dressed raisin-faces in order to steal it back.

The crowd flows around the drunk/corpse like sewage water round a boulder, keeping as much distance as they can. Yondu, who doesn't believe in following unwritten rules either, scales a massive flank like a mountaineer, and pulls a tall humanoid in for a filthy kiss. Xe stands frozen in shock, but xir tiny girlfriend is suddenly bristling with knives. 

"Hey, hey c'mon let's get!" Kraglin says, pulling Yondu down by his coattails before little murder doll there can try anything. Not that she'd get anywhere normally, but she looks dangerously sober compared to the state he and Cap'n's in. 

"S'posed'ta meet Tullk 'n' the rest off by t'Lotus!", he shouts at Yondu, over the high pitched blare of Shi'ar pop. "Three hours ago! Alla them good whores gonna be gone less we pick up pace!"

"What?!" shouts Yondu, clinging to him in a sloppy side-hug. 

"WHORES! THERE!"

Kraglin points with his whole hand in the direction he thinks the Lotus is. 

"Knew I 'pointed ya first mate for a reason! Second day and yer already provin yer worthy!" Yondu grins and claps him on the back so he stumbles. "Thass'n ex'lnt idea! Lead on!"

And he flings his arms out dramatically, coat flaring, and smacks a passing steroid- and mod addict in the face. 

So they have to run, because Yondu's trying to be discreet and not use any distin....di-stin-guish-ing weapons like a big damn radioactive flying arrow, and pretty boy there looked like he wouldn't even be bothered by anything less. Like a grenade launcher or something. Not that they have it. 

They come to a stop in an alley, and Kraglin really, really shouldn't lean his back against the wall, but he has to breathe damnit. Besides, by this stage of their bar crawl the wall shouldn't be leaning on him. It might catch something. Breathe. Yes. Air's good. 

"Holy fucking shit", Yondu's saying, looking up at the sliver of light polluted sky visible between buildings. "I've no fuckin idea where we are. Krags, where the fuck's our ship at?"

He laughs so hard he topples over. Kraglin pushed off the wall with some difficulty, flops over to help him up, but ends up on his ass too when Yondu trips him. 

"Fuckin asshole", he says, because there are things under the snow and he just smacked his elbow into something fragrant and juicy. 

Yondu's instantly serious. Kraglin dimly registers that that's his arrow-through-a-head face. 

"Sir!" he amends, flicking whatever it was off his jacket. "Fuckin asshole, Cap'n Sir!"

"Thassmore like't"

Yondu manages to get his feet under him, only to drape an arm over Kraglin's skinny shoulders so he has to tilt sideways. 

"Hey," Yondu jabs him in the chest. "We gotta regroup. Strategy meetin'. "

"But Cap'n. Boss. Sir. 'S just two a us"

"An'?"

"An' we're already as regrouped we're gonna get."

"Damn right, boy! But this'ere ain't an environment con..conductive to planning. Needs" .. he flaps his hand vaguely .."ambience n shit."

"I think", he says and looks Kraglin dead in the eye, solemn as anything. "We should get to a strip club. Nice'n warm there. Getsum pretty things parked in our laps 'stead of freeze our balls off out here."

"But the ship? The Lotus?"

"Oh the ship, the ship. It'll keep. An Halfnut's prolly scared the whores offworld by now. They can take care of themselves while us high command have a meetin'. " 

"C'mon, boy", he says, striding away down the alley in a mostly straight line. 

They meet a mugger on the way out, but even completely off his tits, Yondu can still hold a note. They raise their hands in the air and back into the alley again, away from prying eyes. 

Because they're trying to be discreet, not that that's easy with Yondu there making a fashion statement to rival the Collector. The mugger, the idiot, grins and follows, scenting easy prey. Arrow, heart, -zip!-. And that takes care of that problem, nice and easy. Kraglin stabs her with his electro-blade just to feel helpful. 

\---

The Titty Twister is a dingy shack, dwarfed by the giant neon sign above it, where a stylized fembot twerks and pinches her oversized nipples.

Whatever! It's great! They've aquired more booze from somewhere and the world has a soft halo. They're greedy-handed and happy and itching to misbehave. 

Inside, it looks a bit better. There's gilding and synth flowers and even a little waterfall, where a bot perpetually enjoys her bath to an implausible degree. There's also stim wrappers littered on the floor, coins in the basin like it's a wishing well, and robo girl isn't entirely watertight so she sparks now and then. But least they've tried. 

There's a force field door that wouldn't keep a fly out, and a bored humanoid of unknown type by the counter. Hard to see under all of them piercings. 

"Twenty deelahs", xe says, hollow-voiced. 

Contraxia uses data sticks, valuable metals and an array of physical money. Anything you happen to have on hand, or can rob your neighbour of, can also be traded as payment.  
Most people who come here don't want to be traced, so the usal bio-sign thumbprint method is out. Kraglin throws a handful of random coins on the counter, and xe is appeased. 

He leers at xe for good measure, and xe rolls xir eyes and lets them through. 

\----

Most establishments of lesser repute use bots. Genuine whores are expensive and need rest, a salary, healthcare and equal rights, or else Grandma Peach of the Pleasure Guild is going to come and eviscerate you with her hair sticks. Bots need disinfectant wipes and some offbrand replacement parts now and then. Synth tape and strategically placed sexy clothes do wonders for keeping an worn-down unit in business, at almost no cost at all. 

Kraglin suspects there's plenty tape and fritzy wires under the bondage gear, silk loincloths and lingerie here. But he's not seeing details too well right now, and the bots are mighty pretty. 

Its a bigger place on the inside, looks like it's annexed a nearby warehouse. A stage where simulations of various races and genders gyrate to the bass beat, packed crowd, cute waiters. They get a table with a holo screen where you can order drinks, stims and bots alike. 

He gets them something half decent to drink, and Yondu drools over the bot list. 

"This'n"

He jabs a blue index finger through the screen, scattering the image into rainbows. Kraglin leans in and bats him away so it can reform. 

Some petite, speckled thing with gravity-defying tits and hair and a flirty little sub collar. 

Well. Kraglin likes them big and meaty, but he's not the boss. She's cute in a Hundred Dalmatian sort of way. It's a sentinent Terra animal, he and the kid's seen a movie. Speaking of which, who did they put on babysitting duty back at the ship?

Oh well, someone. Kid's fine. 

The gang calls and of course, Yondu put the screen part of his comm in his coat pocket. Of the other coat, which is somewhere in the galaxy that's not here. Kraglin's is on his wrist, and so Yondu leans over him with his arm in a deathgrip and yells at the staticky image. They're on their way back to the ship to sleep. They're weak. 

Things get blurrier after that. Bot girl arrives with complimentary drinks, flecked with little black floating somethings to match her. She's cuter irl and Kraglin doesn't mind when she gets in his lap first. Yondu pulls her back by her collar and fondles her synth tits. She moans mechanically. 

"Hey", he says after a while of drunken groping and glitchy grinding, which is not even remotely a "lap dance".

"Hey Krags". He hooks his chin over her shoulder. "Let's take this party somewhere private."


	2. Chapter 2

Yondu, apparently, likes to direct. 

He's whispering instructions into the bot's audio input, things she should do to Kraglin. Who's lying back on a no-stain mattress with the bot between his legs and nimble fingers peeling his pants down. It's embarrassing when his cock springs free with a wet slap, already out and leaking. It's his -boss- watching. 

He tries half-heartedly to cover himself with his hand, but Yondu's side-eyeing him from where he's nibbling at her santitized neck, grinding against her waist, and he's already seen everything. 

"Lookit that. You hungry, sweetheart?", he says, and of course she isn't, she's not even got proper AI or a stomach or anything. But something about the way Yondu says it, with that tiny hitch in his breath, makes Kraglin feel all molten inside. 

Almost sounds like he's dying for a taste, himself. 

Kraglin has to be real careful here. He misreads the situation and it's goodbye, disreputable career. Goodbye, friendship. Goodbye, life, perhaps, because stars know Yondu's quick to offend and generous with the arrow. 

Well. He'd still be in the gutter if he didn't like taking stupid chances. Not flying with the Ravagers up in the endless black, swooping down on the pleasure-cruising rich fucks that used to step on him. 

He circles the root of his dick with his fingers, angling it up. He can't help but bite his lip, even that little touch feels so good. 

Looks Yondu in the eye and holds his gaze, waiting for him to understand what's offered. 

It takes a fraction of a second. His Captain's lost the glazed-over eyes and the deep blue flush, just like that. If it weren't for the sligthly loose way he's holding himself, you'd think he was on the bridge. 

"Bot. Take a nap", Yondu says, all businesslike. "Corner". She goes to stand there, by the loading station, and promptly switches off. 

Then it's just them, and a situation that can go either way and no telling which. Kraglin dies or gets left behind? Or will he have that dangerous, mercurial, goofy bastard of a man he's maybe, just maybe, already gone for? Seems Yondu has a hard time deciding, too. Probably not often his crew dares to proposition him like that. 

"You got some nerve, boy", he scoffs. 

\-----

And sinks to his knees. 

.....

"Oh fuck", Kraglin gasps, arching. He wants to move his hips so bad, but he doesn't dare. Yondu's sucking him like he's starving, deep, tight pulls and a blissed-out expression. 

Kraglin fists the sheets until Yondu grabs his right hand, puts ot on the back of his own neck and glares at him, still with a mouth full of cock. Like he dares him to say anything, or maybe like he needs to cover over what he's asking for with a bit of posturing and threat. 

Kraglin strokes the back of his bald head, where the implant ends, and then he exerts careful pressure. Rolls his hips, feeding himself into that wonderful, lethal fucking mouth. Inch by inch, he takes over the reins. 

And isn't that something for the spank bank. The terror of the whole quadrant at his feet, moaning and drooling and choking a little whenever he goes deep. He's not going to try for the throat, he's not stupid. His Captain needs to be able to control the arrow, and that's hard if you're bruised up inside. He goes as gentle as he can, while still giving Yondu what he longs for. 

...........

 

Yondu's gone a bit glassy-eyed and vacant, but this time, it's not drink. Kraglin's seen it before, because there's a type that has him as well as the other way around. It's not the first time someone big and bold and outgoing like that has approached him, confused about what it was they were feeling. 

His radar for this sort of thing -had- pinged a bit around Yondu. There'd been a voice at the back of his head saying that was probably part reason for Kraglin's comet career in Ravaging, from grunt to friends with the Captain to first mate in a few dizzy months. They're like opposite sides of a mag lock. Put them close and sparks start flying. Put them together and boom, electro coil engages, impossible to tear apart. 

He's frail-looking and quiet, he melts into the background. But where other people are flighty and self-serving, shifting.. like dunes, that's it. Yeah! Dunes. Well he's ..um...solid bedrock. He can support them. They can safely dash themselves to pieces against him, knowing he'll put them back together, that he ain't going nowhere as long as they need him. He's losing the metaphor here. They trust him, anyway, at some deep instinctual level, and Kraglin always delivers. 

He pulls out, strokes a thumb across Yondu's slack spitty lips and the jagged teeth. 

"Hey. Come up here." He sits up, guides Yondu to crawl on top of him, coattails flaring over them like a tent. Kraglin sucks a pebbled nipple into his mouth. He worries it with his teeth, ever so careful, while kneading the opposite pec like a bot tit. 

Yondu makes these wet clicks in the back of his throat that are probably involuntary, and it's hot as hell. He looks pretty wrecked already. 

Kraglin's seen this too. Strong people, when they finally give up control, they tend to sink fast. And he's never met anyone stronger than the man above him. 

\----

"Keep t' coat on. 'S grown on me", he says, grinning against Yondu's chest where his heart beats quick. Kraglin tries to sound neutral. Because he's had his hands up it, where Yondu's upper back and shoulder muscles twitched under a layer of heavy scars. He recognizes slaver brands by touch.

Which of course makes Yondu, briefly shocked back to his usual ornery self, tear it off and toss it behind him just to be spiteful. Kraglin gets a glimpse of blurry Kree family crests, sunk deep into the skin. Most of them are tattooed over with a fat black angry line. 

"How many left to kill?" he asks. 

"Hundred fourty two". Yondu looks like he want to cross his arms over his chest, hide himself, but he's too stubborn to do it. Instead he kneels above Kraglin, arms stiffly to his sides and whole body tense. 

"I'm thinkin'", Kraglin rubs his arms soothingly over leather-clad thighs, inches toward the zipper. "Well, now I'm First Mate, I should get at least a fifty-fifty split on that". 

"Thirty-seventy", Yondu says automatically, but he relaxes. 

Kraglin takes him under again, slow and steady. He peels them out of their leathers and opens Yondu up with tongue, fingers and a little of a single-use packet of that fruity smelling slick that comes with the room. Not like Kraglin doesn't get wet, himself, his dick's pretty slick already, but he's taking no chances. Who knows when Yondu did this last. 

"Sit", he says when he's done. "Hah. Yeah that's perfect. Yeah feel it a bit. Gonna give you the rest now".

Yondu's too loose-limbed in this headspace though, can't find a rhythm by himself. Kraglin puts him on his back, lifts his hips and impales him again. He's careful not to lean over him or crowd him. 

Seems with Yondu's species, you have to angle up sharply and fuck in short and shallow. It's hell on his arms and thighs, and he wants nothing more than to bury himself completely and chase hos own orgasm, but the noises makes it worth it. It's mostly clicks and cries, but there's enough breathy Kree and Galaxtic Pidgin in there for Kraglin's implant. 

He's begging. Holy shit. 

"Aw fuck, 'm sorry. Ain't gonna last", Kraglin gasps, and wraps a hand around Yondu's stiff cock. It's dry, but it's deliciously ridged. Kraglin spits in his palm, catches a bit of the slick running down his thighs from where they're joined, and starts moving in earnest. 

Yondu clamps his strong thighs together when he comes, catching Kraglins hips in a painful vice grip, and bows up like he's being electrocuted. He's completely silent, doesn't even breathe until the last spasms have passed, and then he sucks in air in great gulps and goes all loose-limbed. Kraglin stares at the white on blue, all over Yondu's belly and chest like a filthy star map. Then he hefts him up higher by the hips, and can finally, finally go as deep as he needs, while Yondu paws at him clumsily, urging him on. 

It's possible he says something deeply embarrassing when he finally comes. Something he can't take back. He hopes Yondu's too spaced out to hear it. 

After, Kraglin puts them side by side, facing each other. Pets Yondu along arms and shoulder, head, the neutral territories, until he comes back online, 0-100 from pliant mess to the usual bastard.


	3. Chapter 3

There's a holo screen floating by the loading station, where the bot sleeps in blissful ignorance with her big, empty doll eyes shut so she won't creep out customers. 

They use it to order something to eat. Yondu lies on his stomach, diagonally across the bed, bare ass naked with his ankles crossed in the air. He's eating what looks like a rat on a stick. It's raw. It's dripping on the sheets. 

"NO thanks."

"Suit yerself. 'S good." He puts the other rat back on the foam plate, sucks the foul juices of the first off his fingers. "Better for ya than whatever that stuff is."

Kraglin looks at his own bowl of bright orange carbo sludge, artificial "spicy" flavour. Hey, it's proper Xandarian comfort food, least for former penniless trash like him. 

"Let's get outta here", Yondu says when they've eaten. "Got some Corellian brandy stashed b'hind my bed, less the pest's drank it. Couple illegal holos too if yer int'rested. We can keep the party goin on our lonesome." 

"See one problem there."

Yondu looks at him pointedly, from where he's strapping on the arrow harness. He's shirtless, twisted to the side, showing off the muscles of his arms and torso. It's a pretty sight, Kraglin thinks but wisely, doesn't say. 

"Sir. Y'see we still lost our ship." 

Yondu does a sharp triple click against the roof of his mouth. It probably means something dirty. Then he touches the comm button behind his ear, and grabs Kraglin's holo piece from the floor. 

"Where the fuck's you lot at?", he shouts at the first hapless soul to answer. They flinch away from the screen, part cause of the volume this early in the morning, part from the vision of obviously well fucked and lightly dressed Captain. 

"Sir! Where we park'd! Sir!", the soon to be previous little Ravager squeaks. Then, when Yondu looks about ready to try flying the arrow through the screen, in bold defiance of the laws of physics, they blurt out the coordinates. 

Yondu clicks the feed off, pulls up a map from the darkweb. 

It's supplied by the Contraxian government, or lack thereof. They've fixed up a nice, easy to read thing, though, in friendly kindergarten colours. If you click where you are and then your destination, these animated arrows with happy faces trace the path, slow so you can understand. It's meant for people with, shall we say, altered brain capacities due to drug or drink of choice. Saves cleaning up the frozen bodies of those who get lost, and makes it easier for fools with money to find places to spend them. 

Huh. They'd totally forgotten about that feature earlier. 

They're twenty minutes or so by foot from the giant, glowing, completely unmissable Iron Lotus. They're 174 meters from the ship. The arrows seem to be laughing at them, not with them. 

"Do we sneak the bot out too? We've accidentally bought her for a whole cycle." 

"Nah. The fuck I need a...a.."

"Hundred Dalmatian."

"What's that?" Yondu frowns at him. Throws up his hands. 

"No dont tell me, it's a Quill thing. Don't wanna know. Fine. Why'd I do that when I could just do you?" 

And he leers and pinches Kraglin's tiny ass so he yelps. 

..............

Contraxia in the early morning is just like Contraxia at any other hour. Lots of species on several different clocks means the party is 24/7, 365 days a year, or whatever your personal inclination is when it comes to counting time. Only thing that changes is that the grey, cloud-covered sky gets lighter for a while. 

They elbow through the crowd, and in 174 meters they manage to get involved in a bar brawl, then Yondu makes best friends with...a..well Kraglin doesn't know. A big squeaking larvae thing, translucent pink and wobbly. They chat happily in whistle-click and squeak, respectively, which makes Kraglin's translator implant hurt. Presumably they understand each other. Kraglin wipes blood from his busted lip, settles for watching the shop fronts they pass. They're in the sex shop district and there's all kinds of interesting things on display. Maybe he should sneak in, get himself something. Maybe his..whatever they are. He can't help but feel they're gonna be something great. Something that'll make the Galaxy quake. Well, maybe Yondu would appreciate a present. 

He's lost in some seriously dirty fantasies, and so he nearly jumps out of his skin when he's suddenly draped in blue and brawny. Pink bestie has vanished into the crowd again. 

"Hi there", he says, wrapping is arms around Yondu, who snuggles closer and gropes him shamelessly. Because post-coital Centaurian is apparently all about the wandering hands. Kraglin sure doesn't mind. 

"What's this then?", Yondu mumbles, palming him while the other sneaks round the back, pressing hard against the jumpsuit zipper, right over Kraglins hole.  
"Think we should get back to t'ship quick-like. Get you filled up. Y'd like that?" 

Kraglin can only gasp and spread his legs a little wider, buck into the rubbing pressure on cock and ass, although it makes him blush. They're in public! Not that the crowd here gives a shit. By the time Yondu suddenly pulls away, shouts at a dishevelled Brahl and slaps him affectionately upside the head, Kraglin's a sweaty, blotchy mess and has to lean against the shop front for a bit. Then he runs after them, before they're swallowed up by the throng. 

\-----

Yondu tries the biolock, but it glows red and beeps. He wipes his palm on his leathers and tries again. This time, without the insulating layer of unmentionable Contraxian grime, it goes better. 

"Git!", he growls at the wild haired heap of limbs in his nest. Peter blinks at them, shows them a finger, which supposedly means something in Terran, and slinks out the door with his headphones on. 

The Correlian brandy had been opened, and the level filled back up. It's now the light brown colour of Eclector drinking water instead of honey gold. Yondu's gonna kill the kid. Later. 

He's got a promise to deliver on first. 

\------

They've both got the whole day off for R&R, or for being hungover more like. Which means Yondu will be looming over whatever poor sods are in charge instead of them, micromanaging and backseat driving and arrow-twirling. Can't let them get too comfortable. 

And Kraglin? Well Kraglin's gonna be where he belongs. He'll be right there by his Captain's side. 

 

\--------

 

Thanks for reading!

Inspired by this fanart: http://knightofdicks.tumblr.com/tagged/tullk

..I'm sorry.


End file.
